


A Haven at Home

by Mask



Category: Marvel (Comics), Thor (Comics)
Genre: Disabled Character, F/M, Family Drama, Insecurity, Keeping the Peace, Music Creation, Parent-Child Relationship, Romance, Time Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mask/pseuds/Mask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odin and Loki butt heads once again. Frigga calls in another deity to bring the peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Haven at Home

**Author's Note:**

> For [skepticsoprano](http://skepticsoprano.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, who also created the deity's name.

The gilded doors of Odin’s chambers muffed the arguing held within. The doors and their knobs rattled at the slam of metal against the floor. The arguing became one-sided, and a deafening followed. Gilded doors burst open, and Loki marched threw. His jaw was locked tight, teeth grit in thinly veiled rage. His hands tightened at his sides, but he said nothing as he passed Frigga. The Queen lifted up a brow, watching her son carry himself with such intensity. She paused, watching Loki’s retreating back, and then slowly turned away. She walked through the open doors and peered up at her husband, who sat slumped forward in his throne. She stopped at the foot of the stairs and tipped her head at him, placing one hand over the other.

          “What happened?”

          “Just a minor disagreement,” Odin muttered. “I suffer his stubbornness, his selfish ambition, his —”

          “Undeniable similarities to you?” Frigga stated, lips curling up at her subtle jab.

To that, Odin grunted, both dismissing her claim and being offended by it. Frigga tipped her head away and climbed the few stairs up to the throne. She knelt down by his left side and took his hand. Odin, after a moment’s hesitation, tipped his head down to her with reluctant attentiveness.

          “Make peace with him, Odin. Isn’t it time?” She implored, voice soft. “He is not Thor nor is he Balder. Loki does not communicate with raised tones and brawn.” She ran a hand up the length of the King’s arm and squeezed his bicep. “Use different tactics to reach him. He is your son.”

Odin started to protest. Frigga quickly moved her hand from his bicep to the air. She lowered her hands seconds after. The King’s thin lips pressed into an even thinner line.

          “He is _our_ son,” she corrected, “and you will do right by him.”

Her words were firm. Her tone moved from insisting to subtly demanding. Odin’s single eye searched Frigga’s face, trying to look for any give in her resolve, but there was none. Naturally. He thought to push the point but knew he would only incur a wordy defiance on her part. Unfortunately, when it came to their sons, Frigga’s level-headedness easily trumped Odin’s contrary retorts. He pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand down to her.

          “I will consider your words and sit with him.”

          “When?” Frigga asked, adding a lilt of interest to her tone.

          Odin drew her closer, moving his hand from hers to her waist. “In time. Now, I cannot approach him. I will have to send a mediator in my stead.”

          “And who shall mediate?”

The King drew up his free hand, rolling it in a vague motion. Frigga laughed, placing a hand to Odin’s chestplate.

          “If you desire,” she began, “I can send someone for you. All you must do is talk to him.”

          “And who will you send?”

Frigga raised her brow and hummed, feigning thought. Odin waited for her to speak, but when several moments passed, he let out a breathy laugh and conceded. He pat her back, gently insisting for her to climb down the stairs and followed after her.

          “I will trust your judgment. Send to him the finest assistance you have, and I will make good on my word.”

          “I’ll hold you to that, Odin.”

He bowed his head to her, and the two greats exited out of the throne room. Gilded doors swung closed behind them. Their close echoed through the halls as the two royals walked in tandem.

 

\--- ---- ---

 

Loki’s upset and disbelief took him away from the exalted throne room to the other side of the palace. He was on his own, simmering in his own mind as the thoughts replayed in his head. Odin was a fool – old and fast kept in his ways. Loki knew it, and surely, there were others who did too. Asgard’s ways of holding brawn and self-righteous valour close was as outdated as the king himself. Or so Loki argued again and again in his mind. He reached up a hand and rubbed it over his face. His boots thudded on the ground as he moved forward. He knew that this was a tiresome thing to get upset about, but Odin never listened. It hurt the sorcerer more personally than he was willing to admit.

Loki lowered the hand from his face and made his way out of the palace. He needed to clear his head, put some distance between him and… his father. The word sat heavy on his mind’s tongue and made him frown in distaste. But still, he accepted the title. He wondered if the illustrious king did as well.

Asgard greeted him with warm sun and a pleasant ambiance. Loki brought his gaze upward towards the sky and admired its radiant beauty. The sight, to him, was incomparable in many measures. It held and revealed many secrets, all at different times and angles. He felt the need to explore its depths and rifle through its grace, and that need saved him, time and time again, from losing his mind when it could. Like now. It grounded him and filled him with a wholesome selfishness that drew his attention and pushed back the swirling spate of emotions.

The outside calmness filtered through the muddled emotions that trickled down to his chest. It eased the pressure and spread its cool touch through his body. Loki closed his eyes and sighed out a “Thank you” to the unresponsive heavens.

His eyes only opened again at the soft twitter of noise in the distance. He turned his head towards where he believed the sound was coming from and looked around as the sound built. The noise gained flow and bars, building and falling. It didn’t take long for Loki to realise that it was music flowing freely through the air. It was different from the euphoric, melodic exclamations of Asgardian celebrations or the somber droll of a dirge. The god peered around, trying to visually find the source. He stepped towards the music, intrigued by its melody. The music felt tangible, pulling him closer by the arms and shoulders, cupping under his chin and enticing him closer.

The path Loki travelled wrapped around the palace’s perimeter towards the gardens and further still to a nameless place. Loki remembered seeing these trees and the babbling, kaleidoscopic brook, but only barely. He hardly traveled the areas closest to home. He was always reaching out far beyond the palace grounds and even further past the realm of Asgard. So, this slot of paradise felt new to him and filled him with curiosity.

The bowing trees opened up, arching over a beaten walk path. The brook bisected the path but was easy to step over. His lips parted with a soft exhale as he took in his surroundings. It fit so well into the royal scheme. The thick trees were rich and green with small gaps in their canopies to reveal the sky. The walk path was made of soft, ash brown dirt. Upon the dirt stood a wide gazebo with vines and moss curling up its structure. The scene blended together to form some outer Asgardian paradise. It felt dreamlike; the music embraced every corridor of his mind, trying to coax either memory or interest. Loki bounced between the two. He glanced over his shoulder, staring at the castle looming behind him. He slowed his steps, wracking his brain for any memory of this place.

As he rifled through hundreds of years of recollection, one thought raised above the others. _Where was the music coming from?_

As the mental words formed, the music stopped. The silence pulled Loki back, and he looked around. Everything was much of the same, except within the gazebo was a woman, holding an orphic lyre. She regarded Loki with a smile. It was knowing, soft, and secretive – a powerful combination that beckoned Loki closer. He kept his gaze on the other deity and slowly approached. His movements were blind but steady. He climbed the few steps towards the deity and regarded her form.

Even sitting, she was tall, and her thick arms were toned. Her honey brown hair was a combination of braids and curls pinned up behind her head. Her bangs spilled over her circlet and hovered over the curve of her brow. Her vanilla cape was edged in light brown patterns and covered her right side. Loki’s gaze traveled down the length of her dress, passed the drape covering her lap, and to the visible parts of her skin. From what he could tell, there were fade white scars with little thorn branches curving around the skin of her legs. He lifted his attention to her face almost immediately upon seeing them and noticed that her smile never faded. He narrowed his eyes at her but inched closer. The deity righted her posture, lowering the lyre to her lap once again.

          “And what brings you so close to the castle?” Loki asked, his words precalculating her responses.

The mysterious woman closed her eyes and then opened them, showing the fullness of her round eyes. She stared up at him and then turned her head towards the castle. Her response came easily and freely, counteracting his caution.

          “Enjoying myself. It’s been a while since I’ve been needed.”

          “Needed?” Loki parroted, tipping his head slightly.

She motioned for him to sit, and he bowed his head, taking his seat slowly near her. He left an arm’s length of space between them, but it seemed she didn’t mind. Though he sat down, the woman hadn’t turned her attention to the male. Loki waited patiently, keeping his gaze level with her profile. Still not answering the question, she lifted her lyre and stroked her thumb over it slowly. The notes floated into the air, and Loki found himself thinking again. His mind continued its searching, thumbing through mental leaflets trying to remember… something. It was all automatic and caught Loki by surprise. He extended a hand forward and rested it on the curve of her forearm. She paused and looked over to him.

          “What magic are you casting, woman?” he asked darkly, voice low and full of suspicion.

          She shook her head again. “Not merely a woman, I am Magnhild.” She lifted the lyre, bringing attention to it. “And I am casting no magic.”

          Loki pulled his hand back, letting it rest on the curve of his knee. “Ah, then it’s your affinity.”

          A nod. “Something like that.”

          “Ah.”

Loki stared at the lyre. It was simple but old, wood chipped in several places. The way she held the instrument was with fondness and familiarity. She slid her thumb over the strings again and produced no music. Loki brought his gaze up and straightened his posture, pressing the question again.

          “You are needed?”

          “By you, of course, or so it has been told to me.”

          “And who told you – my father?”

          “Lady Frigga.”

          “Ah!”

Loki leaned back, hand pulling from his knee to his thigh. So she found out? Thinking on it now, he remembered passing her as he stormed out of the throne room. Of course. It made sense that she would know, but to send a deity after him… What was the reason?

          “She was worried for you,” came the easy response.

          “I didn’t know you were fond of mind reading.”

          “I’m not.” Magnhild laughed. “I just assumed that was next in your mind. ‘Why would she?’ or even ‘How could she know?’”

          “How could she know _what_ exactly?”

          “That you needed company?”

Loki narrowed his eyes and tilted his head again, a bit caught off by the female’s confidence in her answers. He was at once impressed and flustered. His lips parted to speak, and it was a moment before he did so.

          “Do not presume that I–”

          “I don’t presume.” She touched the lyre again, lifting it slightly to grab his eye. “I know.”

Loki immediately held his tongue, catching the response of disbelief and wonder that mingled on the edge of his tongue. He nodded his head, taking her words simply as they were for now and took another approach.

          “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before. Magnhild.” He motioned a hand out to her. “Are you close with my mother?”

Magnhild hummed in the affirmative and lifted her head, meeting his gaze. Her reply opened up the conversation and led them down more familiar paths and hearty exchanges. Each positive response chipped away at the suspicion framing the edges of Loki’s mind. As he relaxed and spoke more freely, Magnhild’s posture eased in return. Her expression opened up to him, and suddenly, she was more genuine and approachable. Loki watched the slow unfolding with great interest, admiring how she matched his mood so effortlessly.

He also noticed that she kept her hands steady on her instrument but didn’t play a single note while they talked. At least, not without being asked. He was the main source of her attention even as she smiled, paused, and looked away. The sky began to purple and darken, and Loki pulled himself away from the other deity. She was unable to rise with him, but she looked rather content sitting where she was. Magnhild played again as he left her, filling his mind with the passing days and nights where their conversations became routine. Every note brought the sunshine; every pause promised a sunset.

When he saw her again many weeks later, he told her a story as she played him a song. His words formed the lyrics of their harmony, and each staff was painted with notes of disappointment and isolated fury. When his voice ran cold, he felt the chill as each word passed his lips. And the topics of his ire? Odin, Thor, the politics of Asgard, plans fallen apart, nightmares given to him from planning ahead, and punishment donned upon him, in his words, unjustly. Magnhild won his thanks when she listened the first time and gained his respect when she played without judgment the next time.

By the end of his memory, Loki found that they had been talking for months – a handful or less – and that he was, to some respects, taken by her. He found her more than amusing and graced her with the honour of calling her a companion. When he discovered that she had her own side of playfulness, as she sometimes disorientated gods in the palace when they passed by, he waded deeper into his feelings. He briefly entertained the thought of picking her mind to see if she felt the same, but he refrained. Loki was no child anymore, and the idea of being so enamoured with someone so quickly made him laugh bitterly.

But even his own laughter ceased one day in the palace.

It was after Frigga had called him to the throne room. She sat next to Odin and stared expectantly at the door. When Loki walked through, her presence relaxed and warmed at the sight of him. He cast a small smile up at her but stared at Odin stone faced. The expression was returned, and Frigga laughed quietly to herself.

          “Such is the father, such is the son,” she muttered to herself.

Odin tipped his head towards her and adjusted in his seat.

          “Loki, my son,” he began. “Some time has passed since we’ve last spoken.”

          Loki nodded but offered no words.

          “Have you been well?” Odin drummed his fingers on the armrest. “You don’t appear as tightly wound as I’m used to seeing.”

The younger god thought on it for a moment. He was on alert, yes, but he wasn’t anxious to leave. He didn’t crave the outside glow of Asgard as he stood before the king. Loki swung his hands from behind his back and rubbed his hands together, nodding his head.

          “I’ve been well,” he agreed, the words rolling out in a breath. He gazed up to Frigga. “Thank you for Magnhild. Her acquaintance has been beneficial.”

 

          “Oh, I’m sure,” she teased, leaning over and glancing to Odin. She turned her attention to Loki. “You’re on good terms then?”

“Exceptionally.” Loki’s lips tugged up at the end of the word. It was a quick reaction but one that didn’t go ignored.

“She told me that you had sent her for me, Mother.”

Frigga nodded, easily owning up to her tactic. “I did. It was to ease the tension between you and your father.” She glanced over to Odin. “Who knew it would take him so long to speak up.”

Loki’s gaze traveled over, and he took some pride in the fact that Odin shifted his gaze away from Frigga’s briefly. The sorcerer twiddled his fingers behind his back before tipping his head down, swallowing down his smugness.

          “In any case, I thank you for introducing us. She has been a valued companion.”

The two royals peered at each other with both questions and answers unspoken. Odin shifted again and righted his attention to the dark haired god before him.

 

When Loki left, he dusted his hands of the matter. Odin made peace this time, but it was only a matter of topics before the situation reversed itself. Loki didn’t think on it. He had to meet Magnhild near the mess hall — her request, not his. He took his time, feeling there was no reason to rush. He was displaesed, but not entirely surprised, but what he saw when he neared. Thor leaned against a pillar and hovered over Magnhild like an oversized guard god. Loki halted suddenly at the end of the hall, watching with an unwavering gaze. Thor pulled up his charming smile and focused his amicability on the resting deity. Magnhild’s gaze trailed from Thor’s face to the arm he leaned on, and her gaze reset again to his face. Loki’s fingers moved in stiff patterns at his side. Thor glanced to his right, where the black haired god stood, and saw nothing. The brunette before him spoke and held his attention again.

When Thor left, Magnhild relaxed and let out a deep, steadying breath. She lifted her lyre to play again and closed her eyes, listening to the change in her usual melody. Her eyes opened partially; she stared straight ahead at nothing in particular.

          “And how long have you been sitting there so uneasy, Loki?” Her words were dipped in veiled humour.

Loki reappeared in a slow reveal. He brought his right arm up and rested it on the windowsill behind him. His fingers drummed on the carved seat before he turned his head over towards her.

          “I see you’ve met my brother.”

          “Ah, him?” She laughed. “We were talking. He’s a bit chatty.”

          “‘Chatty’,” Loki repeated, silently agreeing. “And also ‘friendly’.”

          “‘Friendly,’” Magnhild repeated in a hushed whisper, leaning towards her companion.

Her lips curved up in a secretive smile, but Loki did not return it. She sat up straight, staring at him quietly. Loki met her gaze and could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. The openness was hidden as she posed her question.

“Are you upset?” She tipped her head at him.

“Are you surprised?” Loki retorted, words clipped and tone low. “I’m all too familiar with how adoration shifts focus when Thor is around.”

The brunette glanced towards where Thor had gone before focusing on Loki again. “Chatty and friendly do not easily make for a bedfellow, you know.”

The sorcerer’s brows lifted slightly at her words.

“And more still,” Magnhild pressed, “I much rather prefer your company.” She opened out her hands, lyre resting in her still lap. “You are not a bird, flexing and dancing your feathers at me. Your laugh is not a call to persuade my graces.”

Loki laughed now, relaxing considerably. “You think him a bird?”

“A pretty bird, but one no less. Besides, I know of Thor through words alone. I know of _you_ through experience.” She caught herself quickly, patting his arm. “Through sharing moments with you.”

He picked up on her rephrasing and jabbed back a tease. “Is that any better?”

“It’s a bit more chaste.” She lifted her hand, squeezing her fingers together. “Just a bit more.”

And from there, they were so easily swept up again. They laughed and basked in a wordless melody. Loki leaned his head back, shoulders pressed against the long stretching windowsill. His eyes closed as the notes and tones flowed over him. Moments passed, he opened his eyes to speak to her but paused when he realised where they were. They were still in the same area but on the outside. Loki’s body rested more easily against the palace exterior wall than it had against the sill. When the strings of her lyre settled, Magnhild opened her eyes again and rested the instrument against her hip. She reached down to straighten the cover over her legs.

          “Fascinating…” Loki sighed out, staring up at the lazily curling clouds.

          “What is?” Magnhild asked, her voice as welcome as always, fondness lacing each word.

          “Your music, but I’m sure I’ve said as much before.”

          “You have, but,” Magnhild replied, turning herself towards Loki, “I’ve never been one to deny a good thing.”

          “How indulgent of you.” Loki laughed, crossing his arms over his stomach.

The female laughed and leaned over, resting their shoulders together. He peered down at her and nudged his shoulder up. When their eyes met, his lips tugged up in one corner briefly, and he shrugged up his other shoulder. Their gaze broke hesitantly, and they peered up to the sky together.

Loki sighed slowly and admired the ethereal wonder. He usually found his short-lived peace staring up at the radiant heavens, but things had slowly changed. Magnhild had become a fixture for venting his frustrations, for finding a longer lasting calm. He fought to refrain from thinking about how long this arrangement would last. For now, while she was here – while the calm was here, this would be enough for him. These moments with her became his safe haven, his own peaceful retreat.

 


End file.
